Prodigal
by SylverMoonSlyver
Summary: Years after the Winter War an unexpected resident sets foot in Hueco Mundo. She’s after something, or someone, and the inhabitants are hardly prepared for the lengths she’s willing to go in order to set the past straight. Or what she inadvertently woke.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first UlquiHime fic and I've very excited/nervous about it. I'm going to have an interesting time writing it, and I hope to those who read it that you have a fun time as well. I have the feeling that it's going to be a little dark, so be prepared.**

**Enjoy!**

**(())**

The palace's abandonment had been sudden, and the effects of the mass exodus before the shinigami invasion were permanent. No one returned, Hollow or Adjuchas or Espada. Halls scraped and scarred and doors hanging by threads to their jambs or missing altogether. Dejection and anger hung over the frowning doorways guarding the way inside, skittering any thriving spirit away from the heavy stare. Large dunes rested against the mighty face of the westward wall where the final stand lasted a night's width. The blood was long gone, but the windless dessert never righted the wronged landscape. Foul sand, blackened by hate, shaped where Aizen Sousuke had at last fallen.

It was a bittersweet story pockmarked with victories and defeats on both sides, Soul Society and Hueco Mundo. It was a story that was never told outside the circle of those who lived, and survived, to remember the tale. It was a story Grimmjow Jeagerjaques loved and hated; loved because of the position it landed him in the months following Aizen's Fall; hated because Las Noches always loomed on the horizon, stinking of death—stronger than the rest of Hueco Mundo, and a fact that made his companion laugh to herself at the irony. The Espada hated, more than the man who was in fact not indestructible, that which could not be done in: Aizen's legacy that stood proud, silent, and tall on Grimmjow's own lands.

"This place gives me the fucking creeps," the blue haired man complained, eyeing the towers stabbing into the sky. "I fucking hate this place," he half-glared at the woman beside him inspecting Las Noches with a highly critical eye.

"I do too," Nelliel Tu Oderschvank agreed, not correcting his callous language. "But this can't go unchecked."

Grimmjow scoffed, slamming his foot into the nearest crystalline "tree" sprouting from the lesser lands, the Menos Forest, below. It snapped when he ejected a slight force of spiritual energy through his foot. A roar sounded, seeping through the thick layer of sand.

Nelliel said nothing.

"Then let's get this over with," Grimmjow suggested tightly. He started, heading round the broad closed gateway.

"Where are you going?" Nelliel inquired lightly, though shifting to go after him.

"To break a wall in," he answered, not waiting for her to follow, "It'll take forever to get that damn door down, and even longer to wander those damn halls."

He had a point. Nelliel smirked.

"If we can find a spot close to the source," she suggested as they began the long trek around the entire palace, "then you can break the wall."

"Damn straight."

The ground throbbed, shifting the sand under their feet. They halted, both shivering despite the warmth of the surge.

"That's impossible," Nelliel breathed, stepping forward to palm the rough white wall. It was cold. "Did its power increase from an Adjuchas to Espada?"

Grimmjow's jaw tightened and flexed. His briefly concerned glance confirmed it: they had no idea what they were dealing with, only that its power increased nearly one hundred-fold in a matter of minutes. Select few in history could climb the charts and break them in record timing, ignoring the glass ceiling of youth, inexperience, and humanity itself.

"I swear," Grimmjow growled, "if that asshole Ichigo became a fucking Hollow, I'm going to kill him. Right now. No questions."

Nelliel pursed her lips. "Grimmjow, that's impossible. We've already discussed this. He was a substitute shinigami—"

"So he was technically already a shinigami in spirit," Grimmjow completed the phrase with her. "Yeah? What about that Vizard shit? He had a Hollow mask," he growled with a heavy pause before brazen blue eyes locked on Nelliel's sea green ones. "Either way, I still don't like you sticking up for his sorry ass."

A small childish smile graced her lips. "Well, I just can't help it."

He grunted, turning his head away and said no more.

An hour of walking and the steady pulse of power never neared, or grew farther away. Grimmjow tucked his hands deep in his pockets and stared upward, watching for the form of Nelliel on one of the lower rooftops on the palace. He had tossed her up there nearly ten minutes ago, and was quickly readying Panthera to release and get himself up after her. But there was no need. Just as he opened his mouth the yell Nelliel appeared and leapt down. Instinctively Grimmjow caught her deftly in his arms. Nelliel smiled, but also raised a brow in mockery. He only sneered, setting her feet right before letting go. She made a point, for his sake, to not notice the brush of his fingers across her waist when he sulked a few strides off.

"That didn't help," she sighed, glancing up. "But I got the sense that the crux is somewhere in the higher levels near the southern end." She pointed, indicating more walking. Grimmjow wasn't going to start complaining though. Yet.

"Alright. Then we can move a little faster," he said, shooting off with a sonido.

They halted when the moon was at their backs, staring at the back side of Las Noches. Here the windows were more numerous than the three other rounded tower-wings mostly because Aizen feared no invasion. The sand guardian had watched this end passionately in his time, as per instruction.

Nelliel was correct in her assumption. The energy warmed the stone now, as she discovered. The tingle running through her fingers, as she frowned thoughtfully at them, was strange, and the spiritual aftertaste was faintly familiar.

She faced the waiting Grimmjow. "Now you can break the wall," Nelliel assented.

A wicked grin broke his lips.

Drawing Panthera Grimmjow prepared to use his sword after years of having that aspect of his power mostly dormant when the ground trembled violently. He jammed the blade into the sheath, cursing and belligerently flinging an accusing finger at the structure.

"It's not the building itself," Nelliel assured rather sarcastically before Grimmjow could speak. "Just get us inside, please."

He snorted, drawing the blade once more. The ground bucked again.

"What the fuck?" Grimmjow bellowed, red swirling about his palm in a cero. A good section of the wall's face vanished with the impact. Dunes leaning against unharmed sections around the gaping hole slithered back into the surrounding sands when Las Noches continued to rumble and complain of the abuse. "Ah, now we pissed it off!"

Nelliel gripped Grimmjow's sleeve, dragging his reluctant mass inside. Grimmjow's irritated cero had blown clear through twenty or more creepily familiar interior walls, which he smugly appraised. Whether if the memories escaped him or he just ignored the chill that had skittered down Nelliel's spine the moment she saw the doorway down the bared hall to the basement Grimmjow walked now with resolution and ease. The deeper into the mouth they traversed, however, the warmer the usually cool Hueco Mundo atmosphere became. Both slowed considerably.

"Did you notice that?" Nelliel asked softly, turning to her companion, and slapping his broad shoulder for not paying attention and staring inside an old boiler room it seemed. He complained. "There's a difference in the pressure again," she ignored his protest.

Grimmjow took to listening and feeling about for spiritual presences, something he did surprisingly well considering his renowned short attention span for most things. Sure enough the signature of this Espada-level creature was absurdly unique, and expanding. As they stood, both Espada witnessed the addition of two then three, five, six new, separate, and much weaker spiritual marks. Nothing since the time of Aizen and the Hougyoku, and quite possibly before, had been created and gained power so fast.

"I really don't like this," Grimmjow muttered. "Really, _really_ don't like this shit."

"Yeah," Nelliel nodded, prodding him forward as he fussed again. Cutting a green glare silenced him. "We have an obligation here," she informed him sternly, "I don't want to be here just as much as you, but we can't go running to Soul Society—"

At that Grimmjow scoffed, condemned Soul Society and every shinigami within its boundaries before hurling himself onward with a renewed vigor. Nelliel shook her head. He was very predictable.

The unnatural warmth flared, blasting the immediate area with a brief but hellish wind. Grimmjow stumbled backwards, blinded by three flashes of golden-copper light. "Shit," he swore, swerving from the whistling arch of a knife edge. At its hilt was a big, broad man, heavy in the face and hand, for the miss extended and imbedded into the floor. To this man's left came a lanky second man, and to his right landed a slender young woman.

"We can't let you any nearer," she warned with a slight toss of her shoulders.

Each of these three had a mask covering some portion of their face. The big man appeared to have an overlarge and jagged bottom lip that extended nearly to his nose, but actually it was his mask that extended so far. The other man had a single eye covered with the rest of the mask enveloping a thick strip down his cheek and up to his head, where it enveloped his bald head nearly completely. The woman's mask stretched across like a visor, twin oval cutouts exposing her lively purple eyes. The mask fit then around her ears like a pair of glasses. Only she appeared to find humor in the situation.

"There something funny?" Grimmjow demanded of the strange woman.

"No, not really," she answered.

"We would ask you to please leave," the thin man suggested with unstrained courtesy.

Grimmjow barked a laugh. "Really? Do you have any idea who I am? Get that sword out of my face!" he snapped at the silent, Yamy-sized man, who was obviously more intelligent than the former Espada since he did withdraw his blade.

Curiously Nelliel, hanging behind Grimmjow for the moment, noted the lack of weapons on the two smaller beings. The sword the big one held was broad and gold, the hilt a mixture of light and dark green. The clothing they wore—an interesting fact since Nelliel recalled her nakedness at her reformation by Aizen's Hougyoku—was simple and outlandish and coordinated with the sword's coloring perfectly. Copper-gold shirts and pants fitted each to their own style with jade green threading and a single broad patch of dark emerald embroidery somewhere on their person in a similar single flower-petal design.

"We have no business with you," said the thin man.

"You're on _my_ territory," Grimmjow growled, "You don't have business with anyone else."

"Please leave," he repeated.

"Grimmjow," Nelliel said, unheard.

The blue haired Espada advanced.

On cue all three newcomers outstretched their right palms, the big man placing his upon the flat of the sword. Without further warning a bright, transparent copper wall exploded between them and the Espada.

"Put that shield down and fight fair!" Grimmjow demanded, snapping Panthera out with a flick of the wrist.

Nelliel called him back. "We have what we need!" she yelled over the increasing weight of the heaviness in the air. Slapping a palm against a broken pillar Nelliel hollered for the obstinate man over and over. A whistle, shrill and pitchy, warbled behind the trio where the warmth emitted strongly. They took a step back, taking the thick shield with them. A hole between it and the ceiling cracked.

"Don't run!" Grimmjow challenged, bringing Panthera to play against the stronghold. The shield deflected his weapon with infuriating ease. At Grimmjow's second onslaught a wiry figure slipped between the shield tip and roof, falling quickly with triangle shaped wings bent for a dive. His clothes were the same colors but darker in shade than the others, and his weapon was swift and keenly sharp. Grimmjow, struck by the sudden arrival, parried with feline pupils barely focusing on the swift movements of his opponent.

"Watch yourself, dipshit," warned the new man as he rested momentarily atop Grimmjow's sword clashed with his own.

The Espada roared, flinging the man away and hurtling insult rather than steel. "I do whatever the hell I feel like! I'm the fucking King!"

Hard, unforgiving eyes, black like his wings and hair, glared at Grimmjow, and the third man scoffed from his perch atop a large stone block, "Even kings bow to gods."

"Grimmjow," Nelliel hissed. "We need to go!"

The four watched Nelliel and Grimmjow carefully, not moving or speaking as Grimmjow turned grudgingly to do as his woman bid.

The woman behind the shield peered behind her, looked to each companion in turn, and nodded. "It's time."

They closed their eyes, each taking a deep breath, and exploded into spirit particles. Swirling like a vortex they shifted, taking up smaller debris and so much dust that sight became impossible. Nelliel, even at the distance which she stood, dropped to the ground, resisting the crushing press to comply with the heaving winds, and crawled. Even through the heaviness settling between her shoulders as a child would sit and demand a ride Nelliel rebelled. Grit buried under her dragging fingernails and the wind howled warm and cold at once. Her spirit energy, her life-force and power, slowly ebbed out Nelliel's toes, sucked into the deadly twirl of sand and energy above and behind her. She curled the little, numbing appendages. The sensation of weakening didn't stop. It wormed thickly up her claves. The vortex broadened and grew taller, and the winds whipped dirt and cement slices across her face. She couldn't remember when she started screaming, raging against the sudden yank of death on her heels. With a final pull Nelliel momentarily broke the concentration fixated on her from whatever forces beckoned her demise, and rolled over and over unheedingly of the battering and bruises.

And then it stopped.

Eerie silence of Hueco Mundo collapsed around her ringing ears as Nelliel quickly scrambled from the dark of the wall of sand sparkled with copper lights flickering on and off within. She remembered Grimmjow and shuddered, biting her bleeding lip to keep from wailing. A low moan of agony poured from her throat, burning her eyes.

Stupid, stupid man.

With a blink to rid the humiliation of tears Nelliel gasped at the instant pristine face of the land. Not a misplaced particle of sand lay outside the convincingly old grey-white structure blended into the background of dunes. Had Nelliel not stood before it, it would have gone unnoticed. Curled roof edges suggested ancient style, therefore, mistakably, age. Whitewashed gates were decorated with precision carvings of a great battle between angelic figures with feathered wings and hauntily perfect faces downcast with weighty sorrow, and demonic men with horned heads and whipping tails and depressed eyes surrounded by various disturbed expressions.

Entranced by this awesome scene Nelliel found herself brushing a hand against the firm wood, smooth like marble and smelling like freshly felled trees. Impossible in this desert place, however distinctly true under Nelliel's scrutiny. How she recalled the thick smell of newly felled trees didn't cross her marveled mind. The building was by no means enormous like the obnoxious Las Noches, but held true to a household of a powerful and royal being. Who it belonged to, now, Nelliel had to question seeing as everything prior to discovering this immaculate home had skipped her mind. She furrowed her brows, stepping slowly to the joint of the gate and stone wall, touching the cool metal jamb.

If Grimmjow had been inside the vortex, he was surely inside now.

Then it clicked.

Nelliel backpedaled, clutching her sword.

"Good afternoon," a chipper voice called from above. Nelliel looked up into a friendly face of a weaker Fraccion-leveled woman with hardly a mask covering any portion of her simply pretty face. The woman smiled. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Nelliel swallowed, but schooled her features, adopting the same respectful tone she reserved for Aizen. "I would like to see the…owner here, if you would let them know please."

"Of course!" the woman called, turning away.

The one gate housing the frozen angels opened, and Nelliel walked timidly but resolutely inside without meeting an escort. She could not sense that powerful aura from before, nor the slightly familiar ones of those four with whom Grimmjow instigated a fight or even Grimmjow himself. And she feared greatly and suddenly for herself and the curiosity of the empty courtyard before her.

**(())**

**I really like GimmNell, and a Hueco Mundo setting is the perfect place to weave them in the plot!**

**Is it a little too late to mention Grimmjow's mouth...? It's a little dirty. But we love him anyway!**


	2. Chapter 2

Shudders on the horizon of Hueco Mundo rattled the treetops of the Forest of Menos. The Menos Grande there cowered briefly at the outburst of power. Few felt envy for a moment before lumbering on, fixation to nothing in particular renewed for most.

One flat-faced Menos consumed the remains of a cattle-like comrade, refusing nature's course for a herd creature and feeding off the multitudes of energy warped into a single mass for nourishment to those who desired it. And the Menos changed, quickly. The _he_ who oppressed the dim consciousnesses of a thousand souls dominated completely. It became _himself_. He climbed to the surface, burning with hunger and the greed thereof. Beside the nameless castle grounds he rose, shaking the sand from his feathery fur, casting his new tail like a whip. Wings carried him and his hunger away.

The complexities of power struggles were reserved for those who could play the game without prior knowledge of having agreed to the unspoken, unwritten rule. Lucky ones discovered their involvement and moved accordingly with advantage while those who did not paved a road of rotting bones by which the single winner out of many thousands of losers ascended. The bone-white sands of Hueco Mundo were Inoue Orihime's road to follow.

She watched these life-sustaining dunes with disinterest. She disliked the sickle moon. Her room window faced north, against the insistent stare of the moon.

Slowly taking up a hand Orihime drew with a finger against the square of sky through the window the moon's shape.

"Milady?"

"Yes, Ayame?"

"Someone is here to see you. An Espada," the timid Fraccion breathed.

"So soon?" Orihime inquired. She received no answer.

Rising from her small, plush couch Orihime donned a veil herself while Ayame stood to the side. Orihime leaned down beside the couch, tugging the long length of a feline ear. The large cat woke quickly. Prominent black lines on the feline's face, carved at the points with blue, created a somber expression in the harshness, and he appeared agitated. The muttered growl baring his teeth rumbled pleasantly from the creature's very core. He hated the attention, but edged her small palm greedily with his broad forehead. Orihime did not smile.

"Come," she commanded, gathering herself up. The feline, without hesitation, did.

(())

Nelliel fidgeted like a child, nervous and agitated with the eerie silence of such a large compound. She hadn't felt so small in a very long time. It bothered her greatly. Ushered under an awning overlooking a crystalline mockery of a garden, complete with opaque flowers and stalks and tree trunks of reformed familiar crystal, Nelliel fumbled over her mistake. She closed her eyes, taking a breath to stabilize her thundering chest, unwilling to concede her discomfort for fear of losing her blue haired idiot.

"It'll just be a few moments," the young Fraccion announced, offering Nelliel a seat at a low-leveled table surrounded by deep gold and green pillows. The copper-gold and jade uniform swirled about the woman's petite form, but despite her size she carried airs of confidence. Nelliel doubted if she couldn't properly and fluidly wield the short sword tucked into her sash. Dusty blonde's hair was pulled into a loose topknot. Any mask remnants had skipped her face entirely and were hidden save for a solid white sheet spreading from her back out across her slender shoulders, giving her a slightly broader appearance.

"I'm Shuno if you need anything else," the Fraccion added with a friendly smile.

"Wai—" Nelliel started but Shuno was gone. The Espada frowned, sitting back on an exceptionally soft pillow. The courtyard was empty. It was as dead inside as outside. How would she call if there was no one around to call on? Unconsciously Nelliel nibbled her lip—a strange habit she unknowingly picked from somewhere that she only fell into when nerves wracked her. Grimmjow hated it because it usually meant some form of heavy work to do ahead generally dealing with actual serious issues or overzealous Hollow in the transient world that the shinigami finally refused to feed.

Nelliel flinched when blood flavored her tongue. With a heavy tick of annoyance crossing her brow she sought shortly for a cloth, finding only the pillows and her own clothing. How presentable she must be Nelliel hardly wanted to think about. Battered and bruised was no way to approach a powerful being, enemy or not. Particularly an enemy. What was she thinking? Relenting to the fact that she couldn't possible worsen her physical state Nelliel bent to dab her bleeding lip on the hem of her pant-skirt. When she rose, a mug of dark liquid sat before her on the table.

Now that wasn't fair.

Glancing around, Nelliel leaned over the mug. Steam rose and stung certain tender spots on her face. The dark liquid had an interestingly sweet smell. A distorted reflection of the awning rippled on the surface Cued, the sand she swallowed burned, and she was extremely thirsty. Or something close to it. Her throat itched horribly.

A real good question, one she'd wanted to ask Aizen, was where the water for these drinks came from.

An eternity passed. Nelliel sighed, ending her diligence against the drink and took a sip. Her lips twisted, which hurt and she almost spit the stuff out. It was disgusting. She set it down, pushing the mug away. Shifting to a more comfortable position, one from which she could leap and defend herself if need arose, she rested chin in hand. Gazing out at the garden and the prism of flowers that scattered weak colors from the pale moonlight onto the plain sand Nelliel dimly noted its pathetic state. The singular hues were boring, not a stretch at all from Hueco Mundo itself. However, gardens, according to her knowledge, were supposed to be happy and vibrant, and bland and dead. She sighed to crate noise, and slowly focused on the small patches of color in the receptive dirt.

The brush of fabric heralded a new presence. The hem of a long, flowing dress colored as dark sunshine wafted into Nelliel's peripheral vision, and the Espada blinked rapidly at the illusion. And a glance, not up but sideways, drew Nelliel to the creature beside the faceless woman. Nelliel's breath solidified in her lungs. Brazen blue eyes, fully feline as was his form, stared glaringly at Nelliel as if his memory failed him. And his memory did fail him. Unheeding to the person beside her Nelliel reached for Grimmjow. His tail whipped, and he moved back fractionally, casting a peek at the woman Nelliel had nearly forgotten.

It took a hard, intense moment of internal screaming but Nelliel stood, upholding herself on liquid knees by willpower alone. She bowed, closing her sea green eyes before the panther Adjuchas came into view, and addressed the woman of the compound.

"If you'll forgive me," Nelliel requested shakily after a sturdy performance of introduction, to which the woman said nothing, "but I was caught outside when you…arrived."

"I see," the woman finally answered. Her voice, unlike her overwhelming spirit pressure, was soft-spoken, airy, and almost kind. Gold sprinkled the pale crème veil covering her face, making her features that much harder to distinguish. The veil extended back to conceal her hair as well. Long sleeves ended and wrapped round delicate wrists; her shoulders were bare, the dress connecting again at the corner of her breasts. The dress then ran smoothly to catch on her hips almost tightly before falling gracefully just above the floor. Resting around her arms like a shawl was a train of the veil as it broadened considerably at the base of her neck. A large, simple flower bloomed dark emerald, studded here and there with matching gems along its line, on her back and etched in gold vines.

Inadequacy pumped like a foul imitation of adrenaline through Nelliel's veins, and she kept her head slightly bowed. It was, however, a far cry from the heavy hand of tyranny Aizen had utilized to oppress his warriors, but a misted depression just strong enough to tickle the notion of humble obligation and willingness. Aizen had bled superiority in his very breath, but this woman, while equally strong, possibly even more so Nelliel dared to admit, shrouded herself in distant caution. And Nelliel could feel that caution study her from behind that veil.

"If that's all," the woman said without hint of irritation, "Shuno can see you out."

"Milady!" Nelliel blurted as Grimmjow, no second glance or hesitation, started after the woman. Nelliel, at the turn of the woman's head, cursed silently, scrambling for some excuse for calling rashly. "If you wouldn't mind, since your home is so empty, is there any way I could stay? I could…help Shuno, or be a guard. If it suits you."

Silence followed. Nelliel was so sure of finalizing rejection that she tasted the bitter loneliness to complete the sight of Grimmjow, forgotten, Adjuchas, and pet to some strange woman. Her fingers twitched as Grimmjow hid behind the veil to stare blatantly with unknowing eyes.

This would surely jeopardize so many more than just herself but Nelliel found it difficult to conjure enough care of anyone else for it to matter. The first prospect of a Hollow was, after all, ravenous selfishness of a single _self_ and that self's needs.

"That'll be fine," the woman answered, slamming Nelliel from her doubts. The Espada could barely thank her for acceptance into the compound's scarce ranks.

Grimmjow did not look back once as he and the woman departed.

Shuno and another young Fraccion came quickly, again unseen or heard by the once great-ranked Espada, and caught Nelliel as her strength finally wavered. She truly felt nothing more than the child she had been when she'd first met Kurosaki Ichigo.

"Come on," Shuno chided lightly, keeping Nelliel's feet under her. "You'd like to get cleaned up, right?"

"Yes," Nelliel nodded, fixated on where Grimmjow's tail disappeared into the building. "Yes, I would."

(())

"I've never known of another Hollow with healing ability," Nelliel observed as both Shuno and Ayame sat side-by-side and worked a magic the Espada had never properly seen.

Gold was predominant in this reign where Aizen's had been mockingly white. Nothing here, though, had the fakeness; it was all real. The infirmary, while rather dark as Hollow preferred to nurse their conflictions and wounds hidden from the sun, was trimmed in copper wires along the wall like vines. Grey light poured from the window and glossed a neat rectangle on the floor, and those copper vines glittered prettily, illuminating the room fairly. Even the thin sheen dancing across Nelliel's wounded skin shimmered copper-gold. The power, similar in conjure to a cero, Shuno and Ayame, the other Fraccion who helped Nelliel in the Main Hall, displayed mended Nelliel's scrapes and purpled flesh with ease. Nelliel had her own immensely unique means of healing, but producing soothing saliva was nothing in comparison. Plus it was particularly awkward and disgusting to salivate on a stranger, childhood eccentrics aside.

"It's a rare gift," Shuno replied in a mutter, tilting her head as she roved over the skin of Nelliel's torn and bloody elbow. She twitched her mouth as if checking a smile. "One that I doubt is used often. It'd be wasted in a place like this, I can imagine."

"Very unconventional, that's for sure," Nelliel agreed. The sole reason Grimmjow allowed her to go near him with a mind to heal the moron when injured was if Nelliel's tongue helped with a majority of the work.

"Do you have a similar ability?" Shuno asked. She took a safety pin and pinned a rip in her ratty clothes exposing a part of Nelliel's breast.

"Yes," the Espada answered shortly, squirming. "That's not necessary," she withdrew from Shuno. Ayame fell away quickly. "I'm a member of these ranks now, not a guest."

"You're right," Shuno nodded with no ill humor, and stood. "Proper clothing should do fine, I think. Ayame?"

The timid Fraccion bobbed her head, and ghosted away.

"Now," Shuno informed as she rummaged a bottom drawer of a tall, curving dresser. Metal _clink_ed. "There are plenty of rooms available. You can have any one you want. None in the Main Hall or the northern buildings behind it. Those are reserved for the Lady."

A passing thought graced Nelliel's instant inquiry: where did Grimmjow stay? She cast it aside, swallowing and rising, saying instead, "I think my position should determine where I stay, but I wasn't assigned one in particular."

Shuno placed a finger to her chin, pausing in her setting a line of syringes across the thin, copper-plated table at the corner of the moonbeam spread over the floor. "That sounds fine to me. What would you prefer doing? There's no need for kitchen help. Ayame and I are the nurses and housekeepers."

"I suggested a guard," Nelliel offered. "I wouldn't mind that at all."

"Then it's settled!" Shuno declared, setting down the final needle with a _clack_. "I've got the perfect room. It's close to the gates. In the wall, actually."

Shuno took the liberty of showing most of the compound to Nelliel, a gesture which the Espada appreciated greatly.

The Medical Hall stood at the western end of the compound. And that single room from where they came nearly took all the space. The building itself was small, the smallest in fact, and plain in comparison to any other building. Other structures of a similar plain, though considerably less plain, frame stood silently unused and unexplained. Nelliel saved that curiosity for another time. The small tributary off the main road they traversed flowed at a slender angle towards the southeast, directly towards the gates. Nelliel noticed that much, if not all that she'd already seen, reverently stared at an angle so to face the same direction: south. The northern buildings only, the ones the Lady kept to herself, remained exempt from this mandatory placement. The Main Hall blocked it; Nelliel couldn't confirm it. Even so, the Hall— in the front of which Nelliel had met the Lady—was strictly north of the gates, whose height was, from the open room of the Hall, perfectly level with the moon, hiding the lightless eye from view.

At the junction of the western side and main road, the broad and silver stream of some soft stone that started inside the gates and flowed to the front face of the Main Hall, Shuno continued across it onto the opposite tributary to the eastern end. There, back again at the crux Main Hall, surrounding the eastern corner and beyond stood the vast majority of crystalline gardens. Before Nelliel and her guide reached the smaller courtyard dividing the garden and gorgeously sculpted two-story housing complex—all of which rooms had no windows facing south—Shuno stopped before an exaggerated nook on inside of the surrounding wall. A couple yards from the gate and accessible by short stair was the gate house. It led, from the inside, up into the garrison and onto the wall.

Shuno and Nelliel both looked up.

"This is where we get on the wall, obviously," Shuno said. "But the gate house also serves as quarters for the…well, the head guard, which would be you. You can have another room in the apartments," she pointed to the beautiful two-story building about a hundred yards away. "Just let me know and I'll have that place furnished for you as well."

"Thank you," Nelliel said, inspecting the sturdy little hut. "This'll do fine for now."

"Not a problem," Shuno smiled, clapping her hands together once. "I'll bring some things by in a bit. You go ahead and get acquainted."

Nelliel thanked the Fraccion once more and watched Shuno disappear. Taking a deep breath, she climbed the stairs and touched the doorknob. The copper was cold. She paused. Not out of apprehension, not entirely, but to remind that her decision was, by all means, not just for herself but also for Grimmjow. But was this fate worse than another death? She hadn't believed regression was possible. This Lady was no small force. Without a doubt Nelliel understood that she was dealing with a Vasto Lordes, and a uniquely powerful one at that.

(())

Grimmjow rested his head at Orihime's feet, sleeping. The steady rhythm of his breathing soothed over the irritation

Nelliel Tu Oderschvank was a problem. Grimmjow had correctly fallen in his place at Orihime's side as the former king of these lands. But the queen refused. Nelliel had ties, stronger than Grimmjow, to a place of infamy that Orihime's entire being hummed with rebellion against. She _would not_ comply so easily.

Stretched across her large mattress Orihime twined her fingers in the bedspread. In any case, she resigned to the fact that Nelliel Tu had just become her captain of some unneeded guard; having the Espada near in such a way would suffice. It was the Lady's intention to being with, though not as it had come to be. Orihime was flexible.

When she rose and left, her pet doggedly on her heels, Ayame appeared, taking up the bedspread with a gaping hole torn in the center, and replaced it.

**(())**

...**I have major issues with angst. I love it. Probably too much. Sorry about that!! XD**


	3. Chapter 3

"Twenty-nine and a half."

Matsumoto Rangiku glanced over the edge of the paper. Her captain absorbed the information, brows tucked deep, lips thin, aqua eyes sharp.

"Impressive," Hitsugaya relented with a nod.

The vice captain lifted her eyebrows. The captain never said much out of anything more than necessity, but praise especially was scarce these days. Perhaps Hitsugaya Toushirou was actually grown enough to finally get away with acting older than his age.

"Will it be a problem?" the Fifth Division communications officer asked.

Hitsugaya glanced the man's way, breaking from his contemplative pose of resting his left elbow on his desk, forefinger and thumb cupping his chin with the other fingers falling over his lips.

"Not at all. The amount surprises me." The white-haired captain frowned. Rangiku sat on the corner of his desk, rereading the list.

"If that's all," their guest inquired through the silence.

"You're dismissed," Rangiku consented. When he had bowed and gone she turned to her captain.

"Twenty-nine," he muttered, gears turning. "And a half?"

Rangiku smiled lopsidedly because she couldn't yank and tangle him in his chain anymore.

"The half's for me personally," she answered, setting the list down with a tap of the finger. Her captain's face soured, as it always did for the past seventy-some years when the time came around. The laugh in her eyes—_you know what it means_, she seemed to say—made him grunt.

"Be careful," her captain warned with enough chill in his tone for her to understand the warmth he just couldn't muster.

Rangiku closed up her work station for the night, though it was not yet noon, and winked.

(())

Soul Society worked under the table nearly the same amount as officials earned wages in the open. The earliest account Rangiku recalled of this was Urahara Kisuke, as the once-exile had inexplicably aided the very people who banished him during the longest war many of her generation of shinigami witnessed. The Winter War took half a year to accomplish, but it was the most protracted six months many could remember.

In the wake of the last battle unsanctioned alliances were formed in the most unlikely places. Hitsugaya and Rangiku were one set of three captains and vice captains who had been picked to seal the wary truce between Seireitei and the unofficial rulers of Hueco Mundo, Grimmjow Jeagerjaques and Nelliel Tu Oderschvank. That had been a highly entertaining experience, if not more than slightly dangerous. The blue-haired Espada was wild and unpredictable; Nelliel Tu was leveled-headed and calm, who had spoken mostly and spent the better part of their time keeping her male companion quiet.

As far as the others went Rangiku had no part in, except one. The matters of an escapee resolved themselves all of the sudden five years after Aizen was killed. Ichimaru Gin, who had off-and-on dared penetrating Seireitei leaving only hints for Rangiku to alone notice, came forward, claiming he was finished wandering. The death sentence was the first response, and the Tenth Captain had been precisely at the forefront of that line of consent, but when Gin produced some sort of something that intrigued the Commander General, another exile came into play. For almost ten years Gin was passed between the Maggot's Nest and the transient world, where he used an irremovable and power-repressing gigai, for research or some manner of espionage that kept the man contented with the otherwise slightly less than honorable treatment.

None of what occurred throughout that time would anyone reveal to Rangiku, though Hitsugaya did have some part in a few acts of loyalty in which Gin engaged. She'd rather not know anyhow. She did not see him hardly either, just a few distant glances and gazes.

Nowadays Gin was set up permanently in the transient world, stuck inside a newly fashioned version of the gigai that had at first been tested on him, the same gigai that nearly cost Gin's life. (Urahara did apologize for the mistake, but, after all, most agreed silently that if Ichimaru Gin had died in that accident then none would be the wiser.) Stationed just outside Karakura Town, which at one point had been the center of incredible amounts of reishi, until the next spiritual hotspot revealed itself, Gin's job, besides staying the hell out of Soul Society, was surveillance. With Aizen's legacy finally vanquished there was no need for his power any longer. Bound and bored, Ichimaru Gin wasn't a very happy man at the moment.

Save for the days when his notes and other such busywork were gathered. No one else wanted the job, so it naturally landed Rangiku. It took her a good fight to get, but in the end she was the only person who found the man remotely approachable, and Soul Society couldn't afford not having his required help if circumstances demanded it. The job was supposed to be a quick, in-then-out retrieval; Rangiku wasn't even given a gigai whenever she left, but she stayed, usually overnight. Gratefully Hitsugaya, though adverse at first, allowed her to miss the better part of the next day seeing as these trips were required only at most three or four times a month. During the initial period together again Rangiku and Gin talked, or she did mostly, but he listened. It was the reconstruction of a broken relationship that took years to renovate. First friendship, then once again more. Although Gin in a gigai and Rangiku not complicated things, they welcomed the complication to an extent until Urahara approached Rangiku on her way to gather information when he presented the device that would trigger the special gigai to release the soul inside. He had smiled, scratched his head, and shuffled off, but Rangiku only smirked. She had been sure thanking him would only embarrass the weird scientist. She could appreciate his outward silly guise, and silently forgave him for coming close to removing the strangely steady aspect in her life.

That was almost thirty-six years ago.

A lot had happened since then.

(())

"Captain, can I talk to you for a moment?"

Hitsugaya's eyes actually widened, and the young man the captain was conversing with—a new recruit—respectfully bowed and made ready to move aside.

"Matsumoto, what are doing back so early?"

At that, through the seriousness, she cracked a smile.

"Good to see you, too."

Hitsugaya excused the young man, folding his arms, shock and worry blending with the normal stern aloofness on his face.

Taking a moment to consider her next words carefully, Rangiku continued, "I'd like to know why he was sent to Hueco Mundo _alone_ and _in that damned gigai_."

It wasn't often Rangiku spoke venomously. Her captain carted the conversation to the office, closing the doors.

"Gin went _where_?" he demanded.

Startled, Rangiku detached her hand from her hip, mouth slightly open as if at a loss. They stared.

"You didn't know about it?" she slowly asked.

"No. Matsumoto, what happened?"

"He's been nursing himself back to health, that's what happened!"

Hitsugaya walked to his desk, sat, and dug through a bottom drawer. His vice captain sat on the arm of the old couch, staring at the wall. The captain swore under his breath, and Rangiku faced him, already knowing he held a piece of paper between his fingers and a look of apology in his static eyes. Rangiku took a deep breath, closed her eyes and clutched at a charm attached to the simple chain round her neck. The top of the cool metal charm was smooth, the bottom textured and rugged; it had been found in the dirt half rusted and suddenly more special to her than the world.

Hitsugaya stood and carried cold thunder with him from the room, but his statement betrayed the feelings beneath the ice.

"I'll have him brought in."

(())

Eighty years changed the world. Eighty-seven, to be exact. For better or worse depended on the point of view, accordingly. Kurosaki Ichigo had watched his friends grow old, and die. Already having his chain of life severed years ago, Ichigo had already been dead technically speaking. He never really imagined that it would one day cost him more than he imagined.

This future had no flying cars, no chrome cities, aliens, high-end space travel, or oddly gelled hairstyles. It had people; an entire generation he watched fade and get replaced, nice vehicles and outrageously clear television. Computers talked back, keyboards and the computer mouse were ancient devices. It was real science-fiction his dead generation dreamed of.

And he didn't give a damn about any of it.

The fifteen-year-old he had been filled in the muscles his hard labor produced and Ichigo had grown taller, wiser—though still streaked with impulsiveness—and grimmer. The trademark scowl that earned his badass reputation during high school was now more permanent than ever, and his sense of humor—what he had of one—diminished a little over the hard years. Shinji often commented on his hard-ass-ness, but that quality also allowed Ichigo to not care what the older Vizard had to say. "Hirako Shinji's advice was put to better use when crammed up someone's ass" was as much a proverb to Ichigo as a mere passing statement.

And here he was, making more recommendations.

"Hey," Shinji muttered.

"What?" the auburn-haired man muttered right back.

"Someone's here to see you."

Oh.

Well, damnit, Ichigo had never consistently been right before. Why start now?

Ichigo turned. Shinji tossed his thumb over his shoulder, leaning his head in the opposite direction like he was bored as hell. The blond sighed when Ichigo hurried past him. The Vizard grabbed Ichigo's collar, however, yanking the younger man almost off his feet. Years of thus treatment had curbed Ichigo's quick tongue, but not his temper.

Shinji threatened without a smile, "We'll talk later," and shoved Ichigo toward the door.

Down the stairs Ichigo passed Hiyori, the only other Vizard living in the same apartment building. The others took up across the street, or one complex down. The young woman—no longer quite so girlish; or, rather, girl-_like­_—began to ask if the dumbass was on the roof, but clamped her mouth shut with a snap.

"Whatever," she huffed.

Ichigo opened the door to his temporary home, humming with anticipation. His hands shook, and he stared a moment at the woman standing in the middle of his pathetic living room, studying the case that held his zanpaktou.

So he'd been right this time. His sensing skills were improving at last.

Kuchiki Rukia, like Ichigo, hadn't changed all that much. Her jet hair was longer, down her shoulder blade a little further, and still strikingly wild at the tips. Ichigo had once tried to grow his hair longer; it'd ended up shaggy and unkempt. Rukia, when she saw it, immediately hated it. They bitched about her blatancy, his stupidity, and overall the normal nothingness of their arguments. Ichigo had halted the bickering when he finally noticed her hair was longer as well. He liked it, and told her so. That was four years ago. She hadn't cut her hair at all; he had trimmed his considerably into short spikes.

Rukia had changed in womanly shape, though she would never in a million years be a Rangiku—not that many would—or even a Tatsuki when she was alive and younger. Her height laughingly seemed to follow his own growth in that he was still a head taller; she fit comfortably under his chin, the top of her hair tickling him.

It was there, folded in his arms, that Rukia found herself, and she clung to his comfortably broad shoulders silently.

"Ichigo," she said, almost with an old warning tone. Rukia was on business, then, as usual. Ichigo lifted her up, and walked to his cheap loveseat.

"What is it?" Ichigo asked. His hand splayed across her slender but toned back, and he eyed her. Not many things made Rukia nervous, much less keep her from looking him in the eye and telling him exactly how it was. He was worried immediately, but smart enough to give her time. Yelling "Out with it, midget!" never did help in these sort of situations.

"We aren't all accounted for," Rukia whispered, eyes hard like violet gems.

"What? Some of your division went missing?"

"No," she sighed, agitating herself with something behind that constrained look.

"Then what is it?"

"We aren't all accounted for!" she answered loudly, leaping to her feet.

Ichigo, out of impulse, jerked to follow, but remained seated with effort.

"Who?" he demanded in equal volume.

"Us!"

"_We_ are sitting right _here_," he deadpanned.

"No, you idiot! _They_ aren't accounted for! All of _you_ aren't accounted for! Ichigo, one of us didn't make it to Soul Society," she finished, collecting a worried expression.

Oh. "Us" meaning the old group, long split apart.

He finally understood, nodding slowly, thinking hard, and glaring at the floor.

"We know Chad went to Soul Society," Ichigo numbered.

Rukia nodded, adding, "He didn't keep his powers and doesn't remember anything. My brother had him moved from the Sixty-third District to the First."

"And Ishida..."

"He's a Quincy. They don't go to Soul Society, and it's been confirmed that he never became a Hollow."

"If that's even possible," Ichigo mumbled, ticking off past learned information.

"Tatsuki's in the Fifth District, and we're pretty sure she'll show up at the Academy at some point. We've found Yuzu in one of the lower districts, but not low enough to relocate, and Karin made herself known yesterday. We would relocate her too, but the Commander General sees her as a potential Eleventh Division member,"

"Wait, what?" Ichigo had been nodding, but did a double-take. "What District is she in?"

Rukia half smiled playfully.

"She likes to wander around, and she keeps getting lower in the districts, we think. She's doing fine."

Ichigo smirked, tapping his foot as he pictured his little sister beating some hoodlum senseless. It was a shame she never developed shinigami abilities good enough to become a substitute in her lifetime. Then again, better she didn't get roped into a possible damning situation and lifestyle her older brother dove headfirst into without thinking of any consequences. Though he honestly would never go back and change a thing.

"Alright," he sighed gruffly, half chuckling, "Who else?"

"The rest were never powerful enough, so we haven't looked for them," Rukia paused, face pensive. Her stance mimicked a small brick wall with a steel pole running up the center: unwavering and deceitfully stronger than in appearance.

"So that leaves..."

Ichigo paled.

"Orihime."

**(((())))**

**Sorry for the delay folks. Been on vacation. Cali, baby!**


	4. Chapter 4

Shinji's fist descended on the back of Ichigo's head. It wasn't the first time, and Ichigo had the feeling it wasn't for the last time either. Of course the blow staggered him, but he no longer fell under the seemingly spontaneous and rare wrath of Hirako Shinji.

"Sit down!" Shinji ordered. His tone rose a little.

Ichigo glared.

"No."

"Fine." The blond Vizard fell onto Ichigo's small couch, kicking his feet up on the table. Ichigo hated that, unless it was his own damn feet. Without shoes. The leader of their ragtag group glowered, his prefect teeth showing through the half sneer.

Hiyori, just because she wouldn't miss the confrontation, and because she hadn't the damnedest idea as it what had both morons worked up, leaned against the corner of the mini hall that broke into the tense living room from the front door. Someone knocked, and she answered. Lisa, looking bored and irritated, walked right inside. Shinji appeared about to say something but Lisa beat him to the punch.

"I'm here so another apartment building doesn't have a hole blown in the side of it," she said unhappily, taking a stance closer to the danger zone. Hiyori snorted, gnawing the inside of her cheek.

"Fair's fair," Shinji shrugged, glancing at Ichigo's embarrassed but defiant expression.

"If this one's going to throw another temper tantrum," Lisa added, throwing her pointer finger in Ichigo's general direction, "then maybe I should get Hachi over here just in case."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Hiyori muttered, crossing her arms.

"Why don't you talk a little louder, Hiyori," Ichigo barked, venom dripping.

Her eyes burned a few degrees hotter toward hatred, boring into his icy-hot glare.

"Enough," Lisa butt in again. "Do something about him so I can get out of here," she said to Shinji.

"Let me leave," Ichigo insisted.

"No." Shinji said without pause.

Ichigo snarled, and paced. He demanded, "Why the hell not?"

"Because you're _still_ stupid. Impulsive. Moronic. And you don't know what the fuck you want," Shinji counted on his fingers.

"Bullshit!"

"Prove it."

"I want _out of here_."

"No."

Lisa warned, "Step away from Zangetsu."

Ichigo sat quickly on an empty shelf of his entertainment center. A few DVDs slid to the floor as he held his messy head. The other Vizards held the silence in their palms.

"Please," Ichigo sighed, lifting from his stiff repose.

Shinji paused.

"No."

"Fuck you!" Ichigo leapt to his feet. Lisa gripped her sword hilt, probably itching for a bit of a fight for the hell of it and Hiyori seemed to be enjoying the show more than anyone else. "I have to help!"

"Help who?" Shinji asked. "You're. Not. _Wanted_ in Soul Society. Why should you help them? Rukia? Maybe? No, that's not good enough."

"She comes to see me against everyone's wishes—" Ichigo began.

"That's her problem," Shinji interrupted, and stood fluidly. He picked up a cell phone he'd held in his pocket. Ichigo scowled deeper, cursing to himself. The cell was old, over eighty years old to be exact, and could only be used as a rudimentary tracking device. He held out his hand. "Give the other one."

"Hell no," Ichigo bit out.

"I've let this go on long enough," Shinji explained, no patience left. "Now give me the goddamn phone, or I promise there won't be anything left for her to find again."

Ichigo slowly pulled the matching cell from his back pocket, staring at the device, clutching it tight. Fire smoldered in his amber-brown eyes.

"You had the chance to lay your past with Soul Society to rest," he said quietly, catching everyone by surprise. Casting a glance into each face, Ichigo finally settled on Shinji, who looked extremely exasperated. Good. Ichigo knew _something_ was getting through. "Now I need the chance to lay my own past to rest. I won't have to see Soul Society; I'll be in Hueco Mundo I think."

"You think?" Shinji scoffed.

"I don't have all the facts! But I now this much: Orihime isn't in Soul Society. She couldn't have been reincarnated as a human after already _being_ human. So that leaves one place." Grim-faced, Ichigo slammed the phone on the floor, and stomped it. Plastic and computer chips scattered. The other Vizards said nothing. "I wanted to stay informed, just in case something like this happened. They all changed because of _me_. They all led different lives because of _me_. So I'm going to find out why Orihime became a Hollow, and I'm going to set it right."

Shinji was pissed. The downturn of his lips told as much, and the blank expression screamed the idiocy in what he was hearing. But he also knew that Ichigo was right. Their score with Soul Society, with Aizen Sousuke, had been settled.

And after all, fair's fair.

"You pull your hero bullshit by your fucking self," Shinji said.

(())

Breathing steadily Hitsugaya strained against the old, dead tree sump. The tree was a sapling in the beginning of the Academy years, making the plant's age ridiculously, but not impossibly, old. It has finally withered away over the past few months, casting its dead branches and leaves all over Hitsugaya's division courtyard. Little by little the tree was disassembled so not to cause injury when the larger branches would snap off, and now all that was left of the oldest tree in Seireitei was a brown, rotting stump. Of course the captain could have called on the Fourth Division for maintenance, but he'd rather not disturb Unohana while she treated her freshly acquired patient. He also wanted time to think. Working with his hands helped.

The forecast called for heat. The low was ninety-nine, and that was before he started at noon. He had disrobed his top half, and his captain's haori was stored securely in his quarters. Sweat gleamed off his trembling arms and contorting back and chest when he heaved against the stubborn tree stump. The roots, gnarled and ugly, stank and refused to let go of the earth.

"What's on you mind?" Rangiku asked, coming up beside him.

Hitsugaya paused, reaching up to wipe his forehead, smearing the sweat on his arms with the sweat coating his brow. His white hair, dampened, appeared a slight grey color and hung limply. Rangiku passed a large glass of iced water, which he drank greedily. He scowled, dumping the rest down his back.

"I hate summer."

Rangiku's eyes laughed for a moment.

"I understand that you enjoy working over hours," Rangiku teased. He gave her a brief look, but nothing more. "But this exceeds your job description, I'm pretty sure."

"I've been thinking," he grunted, taking up a broad-ended shovel and jamming it into the dirt, "about his reports. The unfinished ones."

The woman was silent, lips pursed, but she nodded.

"Until he wakes we can't ask him what attacked him, and how exactly that ties in with Inoue Orihime showing up in Hueco Mundo," Hitsugaya added. He glanced at his vice captain, leaning against the shovel. "How is he?"

"Not good," she said quietly, a little guilty for some crazy reason, but angry the most. When the Fourth had arrived in the transient world, Gin's self-aided wounds had all appeared in as good condition as they could. When removed from his gigai in Soul Society, blood erupted in a violent spray. None of the injuries healed on Gin's true body, though they deceivingly had on the gigai. It terrified the Fourth, and Unohana's horrified expression would forever burn Rangiku's memory. "He hasn't recovered at all."

Hitsugaya knew. He had seen when Gin arrived smirking a little, limping but walking one moment, covered in blood and open wounds the next.

"Go get some rest," he said, going back to digging. "Thanks for the water."

It took longer than he wanted, since his mind was made up long before the final root gave way, but he finished. The hole would have to remain, and he would call his third seat to have the uprooted stump removed. For now Hitsugaya showered, keeping the water freezing cold, and redressed appropriately. Then he made his way to the Twelfth Division.

Urahara Kisuke was not his favorite person, but the man was smart in his own way. Hitsugaya respected that, not totally dismissing that the man was also a complete mess. At least Mayuri had a knack for keeping his stations clean. Freakishly clean, but still clean. Not many could peer into the clutter that was Urahara Kisuke and understand everything was exactly where Urahara wanted it, not scattered in a hazardous display of dysfunction. It had taken quite some time, but eventually Hitsugaya saw through the chaos.

Thankfully Urahara was not in his lab, or whatever it was, but outside chatting with his vice captain, the once horribly timid and abused Kurotsuchi Nemu. The young woman was a very hard shell to crack, but Urahara could somehow gain the respect and trust of almost everyone. Nemu enjoyed her new captain, though she kept to herself still.

"Ah, Hitsugaya-taichou," Urahara greeted.

"Good evening Urahara-taichou, Nemu-fukutaichou," the Tenth captain replied.

"I have a thought to run by you, if you don't mind," Urahara stated with a stupid smile on his face. "If you have the time."

Hitsugaya nodded.

"It seems my priorities are being changed once again. I do believe it's come up before in the meetings about a completely separate division dedicated only to very specific research and development, unlike how I transformed the Twelfth Division during my first bout as captain."

Hitsugaya nodded, slowly.

"I've heard the debates, and considered my stand against creating another division." Hitsugaya settled for conversation, crossing his arms loosely. "I think adding another division to the courts, when we already have two illegitimate court divisions, so to speak, isn't necessary. The Twelfth isn't a fighting division anyway. We wouldn't gain anything by splitting the division apart."

"Oh, you are?" Urahara sounded startled. The silliness faded, and the brilliance spied through his mud-green eyes. "You handle debates different from everyone else."

"I'm not a big talker."

"How was the list?" Urahara inquired.

"Impressive, as usual. I've never seen so many numbers from you though. And I don't quite understand why Matsumoto's summons always shows up along with it."

"I've had a history of collecting strays, powerful strays. Nothing not worth my time. It's my gigai Gin's using, my research, and my responsibility." The blond shrugged like it didn't matter so much.

"This is strange business," Hitsugaya frowned, glancing at the silent Nemu. "Why the trip to Hueco Mundo? I thought Oderschvank had that covered."

"Oh, she does. Unbelievably so. Considering Grimmjow wasn't left out of the alliance, I think she's done a fabulous job. But Hueco Mundo is a large place. They can't be everywhere all at once."

There was a contemplative pause on the Tenth Captain's end. Urahara straightened his captain's haori, casting an assuring smile at his vice captain. She hadn't gotten around to smiling broadly back, but her thin lips curved up.

"Number twenty-nine only said 'Installation'," Hitsugaya pointed out.

"That's right."

Hitsugaya's face pinched slightly, eyes narrowed.

"I see."


	5. Chapter 5

**Long time. No excuses. Here you go.**

**(((())))**

The musk of reishi held heavy in the air, oppressive and dry. Ayame trembled slightly and stood across the dark medical room. Shuno, taking her Lady's arm, placed a needle delicately on the skin of her arm, and pressed. Orihime watched out the window, breathing raggedly, a hand clutching at her heart.

"I will leave soon," she said.

"Of course."

The second syringe emptied into Orihime's veins. Sweat poured down the Lady's worried brow, her fingers tightened. Ayame stepped, ghosting forward, but a blind glare halted her.

Quickly, as Shuno prepared the third syringe, Orihime brought a palm down and it shattered like sand, finely dusting around the strict palm.

"I need a real sample," Orihime demanded coldly. "Bring Nelliel Tu."

(())

Nelliel Tu recalled time in Las Noches that were uneventful, so to speak. The people created unnecessary distractions and complications galore. In this nameless complex she barely saw the shadow of the four other residents. A week passed, and in a Hollow standard, it was a rare occurrence to remain in the same spot for so long. Her days at first consisted of appearing intent on guarding, and she watched from the walls for aid until Shuno addressed hr diligence.

"There's no need to constantly be on the wall," the Fraccion explained. "In fact, the Lady is against it. With so little that goes on here she believes that nothing will stop by simply because of lack of interest."

With her permissible extra time Nelliel explored plenty, sticking mostly to the eastern side of the compound. She wandered the crystal gardens, once touching a petal to find, to her surprise, that it was velvet smooth. The halls of the two-story apartment were next. Plain and neatly decorated with designed floorings and pale trimmings the color of amber and emerald. Each room had architectural designs, one maybe consisting of thin-walled, low-roofed double rooms serviceable to a busier life like that of the nonexistent servants, to a thick-walled, high-roofed suite piled with shelves, empty dressers and closets big enough to be a separate room in of themselves. The emptiness surrounded Nelliel, calling to the misunderstanding under her ribs that ached. She could not stay in the apartments for so long without depression wrapping around her shoulders, and she decided to never move there either. Her hut-like home at the wall was sufficient and less open to command aimless thoughts forming against her wish to have that idiot Grimmjow Jeagerjaques back at her side.

Even so despairingly alone in this wide compound of silence and eerie contemplation planted under each building Nelliel, while watching the bland horizon for foes that were not real, and, had they been, she'd care nothing for, pondered the prospect of help somewhere on the other end of the grey sky. Were not the shinigami in wait for an event such as this, where the timing fell in line with the power of such a human that had survived during Aizen's War? The establishment of one such human soul, at the ripened age for natural death to occur, in the ranks of, much less the powerful ranks, Hueco Mundo had been deemed unlikely. Those humans were meant for Soul Society when they died, not the place between hell and earth.

If that spelled some sort of doom upon some plane of existence then those shinigami so bent on hindering such occurrences should have not left their sudden Espada counterparts in the dark. Nelliel had a difficult time caring for separate planes of existence, especially when her own was in danger. Those fool shinigami disregarded many facts when they recruited Espada into the rank of informants. Grimmjow, when the extent of their alliance with Soul Society revealed itself to him, nearly ripped open the Garganta and destroyed everything she and Ichigo had fought for. And Nelliel nearly let him. It was simply her nature.

"Nelliel," Shuno called, knocking on the door to the wall-hut.

"Up here," Nelliel answered, getting to her feet and looking down at the woman.

"There you are. I've been looking for you. I thought you would take an apartment already."

"I prefer here actually," Nelliel shrugged lightly, smiling like something was funny.

Shuno nodded. "Certainly! As for now the Lady has summoned you."

The Lady's chambers were, in short, immaculate. Gold and green—emerald and jade prominently—littered the wall's tapestries and the plush furniture. A yellow, sheer veil covered the window and what was possibly a soft mockery of sunlight filtered through. The ceiling rose high and dark. The posts of the lavish bed were wrought with engravings similar to those decorating the front gates, though this scene was much less violent. It was sad, romantically sad. The angelic and demonic figures danced precariously around each other, always missing, watching, and misunderstanding. It was a strange sight.

"Admirable, isn't it?" the Lady asked from her seat, lying across some half-bed with the train of her dress fanning out across the floor. Ayame melted into the shadows, Shuno remained by the door. Nelliel knelt out of fearful respect. It was in her nature to submit to more powerful beings as all Hollow, unless frightfully stupid, did.

"It's different and very interesting. I can't help but wonder where the story came from. It's not very believable."

"It's not?"

"Not entirely. Why would an angel settle with a demon? Wouldn't there be some other angel beautiful enough for an angel to love?"

The Lady smiled, and it was not kind.

"Maybe the angel accidentally fell in love with the demon because he made her feel unlike she'd ever felt before. It was a fluke, impractical, as you say."

"If the story's true," Nelliel inquired cautiously, "then it's a very sad one, and one I wouldn't wish on anyone else."

Hard brown eyes watched silently until Nelliel, under the impression the Lady waited for her, looked her in the eye. The Espada paled, leaping to her feet. Grimmjow bumped the back of her knees, growling like an animal, slavering under the influence of the impossible power radiating from the small woman. Gold replaced the chilled brown, and Nelliel, by force or tripping hastily over Grimmjow, collapsed.

Orihime, quietly and without a chill smile on her face, whispered, "You're pity isn't needed."

Under her clawing hand, Orihime's dress tore open, revealing a dark hole where her heart should have been.

(())

Soul Society was a much different place than what Rukia remembered. Of course the buildings were the same, a majority of the people, and the rumors of the Commander Generals failing health. Disgruntled Academy students frequently started the rumor out of spite; the Commander General, while he did not teach any longer, instilled harsh discipline and studies, as it had always been.

"Maybe they're all pansies," Renji grunted, adjusting the robe on his shoulders. "They can't handle the effort it takes."

Rukia glanced up at him, a tired smile on her face.

"If I remember right, I heard that you helped spread the same thing."

"That time it was a joke! Besides, it never went anywhere. Everyone knew the old man was fine, just old. And I only repeated it once. One of these days though," Renji said, as they watched their division members file out of the training court, "these punks are going to jinx him and he's gonna get sick."

"Well you're not helping any either," Rukia scolded. "By the way, you were in Rukongai the other day," she tested, watching his stern, tattooed face. "How did it go?"

Ever since Renji acquired those face-marring marks he'd been hard to read simply because there were no eyebrows to watch. Abarai Renji was never a complex man, so the learning of his moods took only the time it took adjust to the bold blocks of black glaring from above his highly expressive eyes. While the people in Soul Society never changed for the most part, that couldn't be said for the mannerisms. Yes the faces were familiar, but those who do not change with the flow of time become trapped within themselves. Many of those individuals inhabit the Maggot's Nest. Though the fact that Rukia could no longer read Renji with the ease with which she used to, she could respect the difference in that the strong-jawed qualities that made him a loudmouthed and brash young man created the steady, no-crap-from-anyone leader he was today.

"It could have gone better," Renji shifted, crossing his arms in his way, bracing his left palm upright against his opposite arm, letting the other hand dangle under the crook of his elbow.

"She's not really the same, is she?"

"It's not my place to say anymore," he closed his amber-brown eyes. "Hasn't been for a long time."

"Fair enough," Rukia relented, but pressed on, "This pining isn't becoming."

"I'm not pining!" he snapped.

"You've pined for the past forty years, missing completely what you couldn't see right in front of your face!" The much smaller woman huffed, both now broodingly crossing their arms.

Renji snorted, releasing the atmosphere.

"Since when did you start being right?"

"Since before I met you," Rukia smiled.

"Heh. Well, the newbies need a little more meat mallet-ing. I think I'll head over and talk to Kira, see if he's got some time. I really hate the summer." He crossed the field, gathering his new troupes like a magnet. The Thirteenth, however, retuned to their own division. Old records needed tending. Her own new recruits would get a good wallop in a different sense.

Leaving the remaining duties under the competent eyes of the third seats, Kiyone and Sentarou, who quite naturally insisted upon removing as much stress from their vice captain's shoulders as she would allow, Rukia went home. The afternoon meal was rarely taken by both Kuchiki siblings at the same time, but Byakuya made it possible around his own schedule to dine with her often enough.

For the time being Rukia waited on him, and the servants withheld the food she could smell for the Master of the household to arrive. In her mind Rukia pictured the drills, the few new recruits she did receive, Ichigo's determined scowl and fearful anger. Of course he would not understand the possibilities of Orihime being in Hueco Mundo and inevitably being a Hollow, or worse. The constant fear Seireitei had cultivated the past eight-some-odd years was that Inoue Orihime, with her godly powers, could end up in a situation unbecoming to Soul Society.

Rukia had unfortunately agreed.

"Forgive me, Rukia," Byakuya said, startling his adoptive sister from her reverie. "There are disquieting subjects arising in the Court."

"No need to apologize," Rukia responded quickly. "Disquieting matters are happening. It's only natural."

The siblings ate in a comfortable but meditative silence. Though she wanted, Rukia did not ask her brother what matters in the meetings were being discussed. She was not a captain, and for now the vice captains were not being called upon for insight, though that was a rare occurrence. The Commander General informed the captains, and the captains' informed the vice captains. Ukitake had been absent for a good while, though for the most part he had hidden his ailments well. Captain Unohana, however, caught him in the act, and he had been bedridden ever since. Rukia was essentially out of the loop.

"You left early in the morning again," Byakuya started. His calm gaze landed on her, but she no longer had to shy from his steady eyes. Though for now she did, under the impression of his clear understanding. It was a little embarrassing. "What did the boy tell you?"

"He understood, eventually," she said with a frown, setting her chopsticks down neatly. "He's going to do something about it."

"That is not a surprise."

"Nothing surprises you."

"Depending on the manner of his involvement perhaps I will be. What will he do?"

"I'm not sure, but first he needs to get away from Shinji and the Vizards. They've had a strong hold on him ever since the War ended." Byakuya nodded once, indicating he knew. Rukia continued solemnly, "He didn't explain much else. My guess is he'll first go to Hueco Mundo and find Orihime. It's in his heart that it's an obligation to right the wrongs he did to his friends, for making them turn out with reiatsu as they did."

"He's a fool," Byakuya concluded. "It hasn't changed."

"But the Vizards won't let him go," Rukia said without doubt. "He's tried before. His past is what they're trying to rid him of, so they wouldn't allow him to charge blindly into a battle that's not officially his."

"Consider the fact," Byakuya said after a moment's thought, "that the Vizards also had a past to rid themselves of, and they have in the death of Aizen Sousuke. Then their ties with Soul Society were completely severed."

"They fought with enormous power," Rukia said with awe, and a little fear. "Ichigo showed that many times before. He's one of their most powerful members, if not their most since his Hollow constantly contends with him. He never has a moment's peace. Not with the Hollow, or with himself." Rukia paused, then leaned forward quickly, knocking a mug of tea to the floor. "Why didn't I see that before? Of course they'll let him go!"

Byakuya nodded once.

"I have to stop him. He doesn't know what he's getting into. We don't even know!"

"To the extent of our knowledge she is a formidable foe," Byakuya informed, stilling Rukia's franticness with fear. "Or she has surrounding guard who can damage Ichimaru Gin to a near state of disrepair."

"Ichimaru," she muttered, her dark eyes darting about. Byakuya realized, and not for the first time, how irresistibly like Kurosaki the young woman was. She only put more thought into her sudden actions. "He would know. But he's not awake. But I have to tell Ichigo! Nii-sama, please let me find him!"

"Do as you wish, but remember there is a division under your command here."

"Yes! Thank you!"

She returned to her rooms and found the device, a little old cell phone that would lead her to Ichigo, gone.


	6. Chapter 6

"Hachi!" Ichigo, without knocking, opened the door to the big man's apartment. Hachi sat on the floor, a couple old, browned books scattered before him. A bright purple-pink ball of condensed reishi winked out, sizzling as the sparks floated into nothing. A young woman who had conjured the kido looked up.

"Oh," Ichigo muttered as the young woman rose to her feet, "Hey—"

She vanished out the window into the light of the sun peeking over the horizon, winking out of sight much like her kido had.

"What's her problem?" Ichigo asked, walking to the window as Hachi sighed and gathered his books.

"Is there something I can help you with Ichigo?" the kido master inquired instead. He stacked his books neatly upon a squat bookshelf.

"Oh, right," Ichigo muttered some more. "I need you to teach me something."

Interest piqued, though for entirely different reasons than Ichigo thought, Hachi frowned good-naturedly. "A kido?"

"Yes. I've gotten better. Or so Shinji and Love says."

"You have improved, though I do hope you're not asking me to instruct you in a high level kido. Even with the capability, that doesn't means you have the ability to handle it."

"No, nothing drastic. I just need to mask my reiatsu for an extended amount of time."

"Oh. I see. Well, I believe that in time you can get a hold—"

Ichigo shook his head, that almost legendary determined expression crossing his brows and deepening the lines in his face. "No, Hachi I need to learn it tonight."

The big man sighed again, though with more humor then any of the others would give to that expression. If anything it had only gained potency over the years.

"Of course," Hachi nodded, setting himself slowly on the ground again. Ichigo crossed his legs, leaning forward with an attention so rapt that it was almost unnatural. "Let's beginning with a higher low-level training exercise and see how far we can go from there."

(())

"These numbers," Yoruichi said, flicking her tail lazily as stared semi-angrily down at the scramble of equations and scrapped lines, "make absolutely no sense, even to me."

As he dusted a desk clear of other clutter, creating an even bigger mess to pick up at a much later date, Urahara chuckled. "Maybe not to those cat eyes of yours, my love."

"Shut up," she hissed, licking between her splayed claws. "I'll rip your precious paper to shreds, then we'll see who can read what."

"Is it just me," he asked, shooing the irate cat off his work to relocate it to the larger desk, "or have these friendly banters of ours grown tame and boring in the past few years?"

"Of course not," the cat scoffed, "You're the one who's not paying attention."

"Hmm," Urahara mumbled, tracing another line across a worn section of paper darkened with erase marks.

"Who wouldn't love a conversation with a feline?" Yoruichi went on, sounding for all her worth completely unhurt despite her words. In fact, she was quite annoyed, and expressed her feelings with a luxurious stretch across a thick bundle of useless rolled up scrolls

A couple knocks quieted the scratching, and the feline disappeared into the back. Urahara opened the door, and took a quick whiff of the fresh air from outside. Tessai, the reclaimed leader of the Kido Corporation and the much smaller Hinamori greeted him and went inside. Immediately Tessai constructed a shield against the taps planted in the walls and under the desks.

"Whatever we say," he confirmed, "will be heard as something else. It is safe." He glanced down at Hinamori beside him, and she nodded a moment later.

"It's good you came back when you did," Urahara said to Hinamori as he turned back inside the room. "You can come out now."

"I'm coming." A clothed and human Yoruichi produced herself, and they rounded the table, each at a corner as Urahara leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk top. His hair shaded half his face from the hot light burning down. The plans before them were nearly completed, and ready to be presented in due time. The deadline was close, and they were on schedule.

The only problem was concerned with the health of the single being in Soul Society that knew of their underhanded instructions.

"How are matters in the meetings?" Yoruichi asked Urahara.

"As usual. Most are opposed to the idea of a separate division, which will satisfy any inquiring minds. The issue was voted upon yesterday, and was declined admission. For now we should have no real problems."

"Except for the biggest one of all."

"Of course. That's a real issue. Without the Commander General's written consent, we can't legally continue."

"I can imagine that requesting his signature while the Fourth are swarming him is out of the question," Tessai commented, speaking frankly and without a true questioning tone.

"His rooms are locked tight. Soi Fong and Byakuya saw to that," Yoruichi said, leaning a hip against the desk, arms crossed. "Not even a feline could get inside. I could, but that would cause too much trouble. It annoys me to admit, but this needs much more secrecy than we've been dealt."

Urahara nodded slowly, glancing at the pile Yoruichi clawed. "Agreed."

"Maybe it's time that we stop keeping it a secret," Hinamori suggested, looking Urahara, Tessai, and Yoruichi each in the eye. "Someone will figure it out anyway. It's only a matter of time. While the Commander General is still with us it can be known that this was his wish."

"It's a good idea, but it can't go about that way, Hinamori. It would be so much easier, but altogether impossible. There would be so much more opposition than if we finish before anyone catches our scent."

Hinamori nodded, and fell silent.

"We're going to continue as we were," Urahara concluded, leaning further over his work. "There's going to be a meeting called soon, so to business."

(())

The captain's hall was lined later with captains and vice captains who knelt behind their respective superiors as Ukitake and Unohana led the meeting. The news was grave, but not totally unexpected.

"The Commander General…" Unohana, in her flowery tone began, "His age precedes him, and the matter of recovery is vague. At this point, I myself question the ailment and cure, but as I said, he is very old. His body can no longer contain its form for much longer. His passing will be of age, which is much to say of any shinigami."

A wave of compassionate agreement swept through the silent room. Shunsui tilted his hat further down his face, and the Fist Division Vice Captain's hands trembled. Many feet shuffled. The air was heavy.

Unohana had more to say, but pressed her lips together delicately and stepped back. Ukitake placed a hand at her back as he moved forward.

"The question of the next Commander General will stay a question until after Commander General Yamamoto Genryusai is laid to rest, and his spirit has passed into its next cycle. Until then things will inevitably slow, maybe to a halt for the time being. Still encourage your divisions. The Forty-Six will preside any emergency meetings we happen to have."

No cane tap dismissed the meeting. They left one-by-one, or as a Division. Kenpachi and his growing shoulder-attachment Yachiru lumbered out first. The young girl was oddly quiet. Next proceeded the Sixth, the Fifth led by Renji, the Third headed by Kira, and the Ninth with Shuuhei. A generation of new captains blended with those generations old, and all had a similar surreal sentiment.

As the stragglers, Komamura, Ukitake, Unohana, and Shunsui left, Ukitake looked back and watched the silent Tenth Division remain before he too turned from the oddest duo of officials the Seireitei had to offer.

Rangiku remained with her captain, though her gaze did wander towards the door a number of times.

"It's a strange thing," Hitsugaya whispered.

"Not so strange," Rangiku replied. "Death is never strange. Only ways of dying."

Cold aqua eyes gazed at her when she glanced up from her kneel.

"That's a very jaded statement, Matsumoto." He paused. "I don't think you believe it."

"I don't," she agreed readily, rising to her full height. She tossed a wayward strand of bangs from her eyes. "I've heard it said before and thought it would sound cool."

"This isn't a time for joking." His reprimand had no authority.

Rangiku shrugged. "Couldn't hurt to try." She smiled at her captain, knowing he couldn't really return it. His scowl lessened, and became slightly embarrassed.

"Let's go."

Hitsugaya thought she didn't catch his paused at the doors, the glance at the platform at the far end, and the deep turmoil clouding his clear eyes. But she did.

(())

Shunsui sighed, indecisive on a correct position of his straw hat. The angle never seemed correct. He finally just removed it, laying it on a stand by the door. Ukitake was outside speaking with Isane. Unohana knelt beside the old man, quiet, still as a flower on a breezeless day. A thorny flower, but beautiful and serene. Shunsui joined her. The soft voices outside the door floated through the shouji-screen. The Commander General breathed shallow and slow, his weathered brow damp and contorted in an unusual facial expression: pain.

"This is no illness," Unohana whispered like a feather.

Ukitake slid the door open.

"She will return to the division," he said, taking his place on the unoccupied side of Unohana. The trio had lived an equally long time, though Unohana was respectfully older than both men. The fourth member to their party was missing, had been missing, and would forever want to remain missing. Shinji would never know that the old man was dead.

"This will be difficult," Shunsui sighed, keeping his rumbling tone at a minimum. Out of habit he reached to pull his misplaced hat over his eyes.

"Not anymore difficult then we allow it," Unohana remarked absently. She reached for the curved bowl of water beside the bedridden man's head and wrung out the cloth. She dabbed Yamamoto Genryusai's forehead and down his scarred face.

"He was not to be our captain forever," Ukitake added, equally as soft. The constant tickling burn deep in his lungs became alive, though he did not feel an urge to cough, rather the knowledge that his time would never end as his aged teacher's will.

The shouji-screen opened, and Sasakibe, in a slight daze, trailed through.

"Chojiro-fukutaichou," Ukitake rose, but the vice captain stilled him with a palm.

"I will watch him tonight."

"As you wish," Unohana responded before Ukitake could protest. The Thirteenth Captain bowed along with his two companions to the dying man, and left. "Sasakibe will fair better after he has time to speak with him."

Ukitake agreed. Shunsui replaced his hat, muttering nothings to himself.

"Would we return to the Forth Division?" Ukitake offered Unohana.

"It would be best. I'm afraid I might lose my way."

"You need rest, Retsu."

"And rest I will get," she chuckled without humor. "First I must see to a special patient of mine."

Shunsui asked, "Ichimaru?"

"Yes."

Ukitake frowned slightly. They walked.

"How is he doing?"

"Not well. His wounds still confuse me. They reject any kido I perform and refuse to heal on their own. I've never seen anything like it."

"Is it poison?" Ukitake wondered as they passed through into the roads leading to the various divisions. The sky was still light enough to see, but shinigami ran about lighting lanterns for the night patrols.

"No. I've tested with as many tests as I dare, but all turn out negative. The blood clotted accordingly, and that has saved him for now. If poison was the culprit his blood would run thin. No, this is something completely different."

"No trace of Hollow?"

"No reiatsu residue either. It's a frighteningly curious case. I wonder constantly where he could have gotten wounds like this while in the transient world."

Isane waited at the gates of the Fourth, and let them all in. The woman was slightly agitated, nervous, and it showed. She clutched her forearm with her opposite hand.

"The room you asked for is ready," Isane informed. Unohana thanked her, and dismissed her to a much needed and well earned rest.

"You may also go," Unohana turned to her weary-looking guests. Ukitake merely smiled, and Shunsui smirked.

"I would see you to bed," Ukitake said, taking a gracious bow that brought a sad smile to Unohana's tired eyes.

Shunsui appeared embarrassed, though both knew it was an act. "I wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. And I haven't seen Ichimaru since he got here."

The room where Ichimaru Gin rested was, incidentally, the very same room Hinamori Momo stayed while she recovered from her first altercation with Aizen. The halls were silent around this room, and the people of the Fourth have all but given up on confronting this strange problem Gin brought with him. Surely, they all knew he would die. Many had no opinion on that matter, but also many wouldn't voice their satisfaction of the riddance, mostly because Unohana would not allow it. She did not tolerate such negativity in her hospital.

Shunsui slid the door, and stepped through, but stopped with a slight utterance of surprise.

"What is it?" Ukitake, alarmed, asked.

Shunsui smiled and moved aside quickly as the small figure darted for the single window in the room.

"Everyone uses the windows these days," he muttered, laughing behind his hat as the little girl passed out into the night.

"Kohanami?" Ukitake called, standing at the precipice overlooking the long, lower-leveled rooftop.

"Leave her, Ukitake," Shunsui gripped the white-haired man's shoulder. "She knows her way home."

"I wouldn't try to follow," Ukitake jested at himself, "How can she move so fast when she's so young?"

"Consider who her father is," Shunsui shrugged, turning to glance at the still form of Gin. He clucked his tongue. "Still, wandering around the hospital at night..."

"Shush," Unohana commanded lightly, if the woman could ever command without a heavy sense of expecting immediate obedience. "It's certainly not the first time she's been here. She's curious, as children are. A little more curious then she aught to be, but can you blame her?"

Ukitake nodded, and moved for the door, but not without passing a reassuring hand over Unohana's shoulder. "I'll come by in the morning, illness willing or not."

"Where're you off to, Ukitake?" Shunsui halted him.

"To talk with Hitsugaya, then to bed with myself, I know. But the young man can talk with Matsumoto-fukutaichou easier than I ever could."

"Ah. Good night, Ukitake. I'll see the lady to bed."

"And you, Shunsui. Though I hope the lady was not too wrapped up in her work to not hear that."

"I heard," Unohana said, glancing up.

A much-needed laugh, however short but true, was shared.

**(((())))**

**Ok, so hopefully things pick up in the next chapter. But we shall see. However, I do have a tendency to draw things out. Must fix that. And you, my good people, are my guinea pigs. HAHAHA!**

**So yeah. Let me know if it's drawing out too long. Or if it's going to quickly. That's my other bad habit. The other extreme. Sheesh…**


	7. Chapter 7

"Call it!"

"Tails!"

The coin slapped the ground, bounced and spun on its end before tipping.

"Damn it!"

"Pay up. That's six out of ten. Next round we go for best out of twenty." The winner snatched the quarter up. It sang when he flipped it from his finger for fun while his companion dug around his robes.

The Seireitei nights were becoming boring, having nothing to accompany the watchmen but themselves and the ridiculous assortment of games and gambling invented for the bored occasion.

"This is stupid," a man muttered, handing over his dues.

The winner shrugged, rubbing a finger over his growing beard. "Why complain when it's all we can easily get away with?"

"Why indeed," the loser of that round grumbled, yawning mightily. He touched the dead sword at his waist, then thought better of his next word.

"Hitsugaya-taichou!"

Both men jumped to their feet as their silent captain disengaged from the shadows. He was walking from the Northern gates, the closest way outside Seireitei from the Tenth Division headquarters. They bowed when Hitsugaya stopped, eyeing them with irritate disinterest.

"Anything?" the captain asked, looking south.

"No, sir. The nights are quiet these days."

"And that gives you a right to gamble while on watch?" The sudden intensity of Hitsugaya's displeasure affected the air, and the temperature dropped from comfortable to cold.

"No, sir," the man with the coin said, slightly ashamed now that, even after insisting the method would remain secret within the Tenth—since Hitsugaya abhorred gambling of any kind, and his men generally respected that of him—the game was caught. He removed the coin from his sleeve, and held it to his captain.

"That's not necessary," Hitsugaya said. "You're not children."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Hitsugaya moved on. He had checked their old meeting place at the fields of the First District, and the hut where Grandmother used to live (the woman was now, expectedly, returned to the cycle of the human side of the coin) with no luck. His luck, it seemed, to have dwindled over time, not to say that he had been a horribly fortunate person before. Rangiku would object to that, seeing as she considered her own sense of luck in certain areas rather low, others somewhat high. She had smiled at him when she said this, but Hitsugaya was too far held within himself to muster the bravado to continue that particular conversation.

The matter of luck didn't necessarily persuade him to rely at all on the concept. He believed in creating one's own luck, or opportunities, as he preferred. Fall as they may, the effort was still put forth.

Still he could not understand what had made her gradually hard to find.

A roll of thunder broke into his thoughts, and a breeze with fresh strength and the smell of rain swept into the streets. The tree's, long since their leaves turned over in telltale sign of rain, swayed, begging for a respite from the summer heat.

What an ominous sign, having a thunderstorm so soon after confirming the Commander General's last days. One had to wonder, however, if Yamamoto Genryusai would continue into the cycle, become a human somewhere in the transient world, and live another life with possibly much less significance then what he accumulated in his long life as a shinigami. He may never found a school, he may never consider taking defensive arts classes, he may never once see a Hollow or ghost. He may forget everything he had done, even after returning. It was a heavy thought, and it weighted on Hitsugaya's shoulders for thinking these depressing things. To consider all the possibilities of a long, productive existence that suddenly, to one's self, meant absolutely nothing was utterly maddening.

The breeze became stronger, and a flash of lightening struck in the distance, still too far for its thunder to be heard. Dark fingers carried over the heavens: the tip of the storm. A closer flash, and a closer clap, resounded. Hitsugaya started for home.

"Hitsugaya-taichou!" a man called, one and the same whom Hitsugaya reproached. A small figure timidly trotted beside him, tugging at her ear out of habit. "The thunder scared her," the watchman said, ushering the child forward with a small smirk.

"Kohanami," Hitsugaya crossed his arms. The girl looked up and flashed him a winning smile brighter than any stroke of lightning could deal. Her eyes wrinkled a little with the motion, and the smile was slightly sharp yet completely endearing, innocent, _mischievous_. Kami help them when the girl grew older. Hitsugaya tried not to roll his eyes, and knelt before the girl.

"Hi," she said shyly.

His eyes narrowed, dismissing the man back to his post where he would escape the coming rain. Hitsugaya rested a hand on the knee that was bent. "Does you mother know you're out so late?"

"Yes!" Kohanami answered quickly, giving another, albeit weaker, grin. "No," she admitted right after, looking to the dirt quickly with bashful cold ocean-blue eyes. "She left after I pretended to be asleep."

"I highly doubt that," Hitsugaya muttered, standing. He offered her his hand, which she took—she could only grasp two of his long fingers—bouncing and jerking his arm as they strolled along. He was making for the Tenth when the little girl's soft tugging became demanding.

"Mom's not at home. She's at the Fourth."

"Ah," Hitsugaya nodded. "Come on," he knelt again, displaying his back. She squealed happily despite the fact that he would run her to likely punishment, and climbed aboard. Hitsugaya secured her legs, ignoring the fixed hold around his neck. He flashed across Seireitei, holding the shrieking child tightly. He tried to move quickly, even for shunpo. He set her down, and she stumbled, giggling madly and asked to do it again. Instead of answering he took her hand again and spoke with the gate guard as another peel of thunder rumbled.

Hitsugaya strode through the Fourth's halls with her hovering his leg as the storm let loose. Rain pelted the roof and windows of the open rooms they passed. Lightning clashed in quick succession, and the thunder roared angrily. The Fourth was otherwise quiet until Hitsugaya and his cargo arrived at the door to Gin's room. Unohana and Isane, still clothed in her nightgown, stood outside.

Isane stepped forward, touching the girl's shoulder. Kohanami glanced up at Hitsugaya, who softly let go of her small hand and handed her to Isane. He turned to Unohana.

"She's been here for quite some time," Unohana said.

The Tenth captain nodded reluctantly.

"I can't tell you I'm surprised. This subject has been…a very hard one for her to bring up." He glanced at the girl as she silently clung to Isane, who appeared slightly less insecure about comforting a child. Hitsugaya looked back to the captain. "She's not doing this willingly."

"Of course not," Unohana said quickly. "Rangiku hides her heart almost as much as you do, Toushirou," she respectfully observed. The young man flushed slightly.

"I don't know how to help her," he resigned, holding up his hands and staring at them. Unohana touched his palm, moving them down and letting go with a soft smile. "I don't think I can."

"It's a matter that hands can't fix," the soft-spoken captain said, moving so the door stood before him. "There's always something to say, when the right time comes."

Hitsugaya glanced at Unohana, slightly surprised but at the same time not. It was his vice captain in a bind this time, and an uncomfortable one at that. Rangiku never kept Kohanami in the dark concerning her father. Kohanami knew how they had met nearly two hundred years ago, how Gin excelled impossibly in the Academy, how even through the hardest of times there always remained a thread of strange love between them. The direct circumstances of Gin's betrayal, disappearance, capture, and permanent imprisonment never came into the conversation. Kohanami recently, since she got to a descent age to understand a little, wanted to know lesser more important things about her dad. His name, how tall he was, what he looked like, how much she looked and acted like him. Having Gin in another dimension kept all the horrible things at bay for the time being. Kohanami was content with knowing Gin was alive, but far away. Of course she asked if he loved her and Rangiku, which Hitsugaya discovered by accident later when he found Rangiku sprawled on the office couch with a sake bottle in her hand. Hitsugaya knew Rangiku wasn't planning on hiding everything from Kohanami, and that those difficult matters would eventually surface.

"I wouldn't be able to stand seeing fear or hatred in her eyes," Rangiku admitted that same night when Hitsugaya came across her sudden episode of heavy drinking. "When she knows, I mean. If she hated him…" Rangiku had shaken her head with a very dry laugh. She asked if she was doing wrong by omitting things for her daughter's sake. Hitsugaya replied he didn't think she was.

But now, having Gin back in Seireitei far sooner than anyone planned, beaten nearly to death by some force no one dared question aloud, the sudden change in momentum ground Rangiku's deep ponderings to an abrupt halt. The situation thrust questions and answers neither she nor Kohanami were ready to face. It was a child with her father she'd never truly known lying at her feet, and the woman with a dangerous balance to maintain between her already shattered family.

Hitsugaya stepped inside, completely oblivious to what he was to do other than sit beside his vice captain and wait. And he did. Rangiku didn't acknowledge him but with a slight shift in her seat beside Gin's pale, disquieting face. The oxygen mask and other tubing plastered to his body. The electrocardiograph continued to beep resolutely, if not slowly. The lights made the room ridiculously bright compared to the rage stirring around outside, as well as inside.

After a time of staring at his hands, elbows resting on his knees, Hitsugaya looked up at his vice captain's face. She appeared calm, more than slightly out of it.

"I found Kohanami," he said, gaining Rangiku's attention quickly. "She was running around outside. One of the patrolmen brought her to me. The thunder scared her."

Concern drenched her features.

"She's fine. She's outside with Isane and Unohana."

"Oh."

It fell silent, beeping, again.

"She's been here before," Rangiku sighed, running her gaze over Gin's stale features. "Well, you know that," she laughed short. "You're the one who told me."

"It's not that surprising," Hitsugaya offered, leaning back so he had a harder time seeing Rangiku's face.

Rangiku assented, "No, not really. Not at all. Ever since she learned she could run fast she's been climbing up walls and into windows."

Hitsugaya knew that's not what she meant.

"She's talented," the captain agreed.

"It's no real wonder where she gets it from," Rangiku whispered, suddenly touching Gin's forearm. After a moment her fingers rubbed his cold skin, and her hand retreated back to a spot in her lap. "You don't have to be here," she said. His discomfort screamed like an impatient child: sharp and loud. He fought a blush, and furrowed his brow gruffly.

"I'll be alright," Hitsugaya muttered, crossing his arms and uncrossing them. He drummed his fingers on his leg. "I'm worried."

Rangiku smiled. "I know."

He muttered unintelligibly and shied away.

"You don't have to stay."

"How long is it going to be until you realize," he said, a little angry but Rangiku knew he didn't mean it as such, "that you don't have to do everything alone." It was, after all, an interesting and unforgettable lesson he learned, however many times he purposefully forgot it himself. "I'm your captain," he added, feeling all the more embarrassed, "but that doesn't mean I don't care."

The woman smiled true, and that gleam in her eye, the one that expressed how cute she found him to be, flickered alive.

"Why, captain, that's so sweet of you."

"I'm trying to be serious!"

"So am I. Thank you, captain. But…" Rangiku's good humor that withstood the initial shock of watching the very man on the bed leave her behind in the worst way possible crumbled around her. The mask she sometimes wore folded, and a very tired, struggling woman took its place. She seized Gin's hand delicately in her own, staring past his silent form. "I didn't realize how much I just don't know what to do."

Hitsugaya wracked his brain, searching for the right words to say. His glanced at his hands, cold, but sure and strong. The pensive pinch between his brow smoothed, and he quickly gazed at his vice captain, frowning with uncertainty for a slightly different reason. Unohana told that his hands could not fix this matter, that it would be what he had to say that helped. His words at times were empty save for gruffness and pent annoyance. Seldom did he speak with a soft tone, or kind words. He had always preferred action over speaking, opportunity over the mere chance of luck. With this opportunity Hitsugaya could show so much more than blindly stumbling over phrases for dumb luck at finding the right words to say.

He took his hand and placed it on Rangiku's shoulder, keeping his face pointed toward the floor. When he glanced up, for she hadn't moved, her hand covered her eyes. Tears as silent as the man on the bed dropped onto Gin's hand that she held suddenly so tightly, so fiercely. Hitsugaya was shaken down to his very core. Without realizing he offered a shoulder. He didn't wrap an arm around her, he didn't lean into the half-embrace, but Hitsugaya did sit steady and calm while Rangiku clung to Gin and sapped the strength she needed.

Spirit to spirit, Hitsugaya felt the cold of Hyourinmaru brush the burning discomfort emitting from Haineko. It was a strange sensation tingling at the back of his neck, but Rangiku finally relaxed all the quicker for it.

With a final whispered word, Rangiku bent over Gin and brushed his shaggy bangs. Hitsugaya waited by the door. He felt agreeable, a better counterpart to the disagreeable attitude he carried the moment he passed through the North Gate. They passed into the hall, spotting Isane sitting against the wall with a sleeping Kohanami sprawled rather gracelessly across the Fourth vice captain's lap. Unohana stood beside her, calmly waiting. Rangiku stifled a laugh.

"Sleeping at the most importune time," Rangiku teased, glancing at her captain. While Hitsugaya gathered her growing daughter up, Rangiku thanked Unohana and Isane graciously. "I'll be here tomorrow," Rangiku added, and the Fourth's captain smiled encouragingly. "Probably around lunchtime."

"I'll make sure the room is empty," Unohana nodded.

Rangiku bowed, and retreated with Hitsugaya, who had taken his captain's haori and covered the sleeping child.

"Ready?"

Taking off for Rangiku's home quickly through the raging weather, a shower of tiny icicles clattered to the ground in their wake.

(())

Hinamori shook out her broad scarf, shivering from the cold. Lighting a candle—for all the technological advances in Soul Society, most however limited to Seireitei, indoor lighting was still very much restricted to the dark ages in most cases—she sat before her writing desk, shuffling inside a small drawer. She produced a brush and pretty dusty plum colored paper she had purchased for the use of special occasions. The ribbon and wrapping protecting the sheets hadn't been removed.

Placing an empty sheet before her, she set to work at grinding the ink and setting it to water. Absently she stirred the black liquid, pondering the precise thing she wished to record.

Her training was advancing rather quickly concerning kido, the demon arts. Fitting, really, she had always a strong knack for it. It had only been a matter of time before Tessai approached her with the proposition of taking his place. She never assumed it would be so soon, however, even though for the past eighty years she was instructed for possibly taking over the Kido Corps. The prospect of it originally baffled her into a stupor, to which she would fall into giggling fits when being taught by Tessai. It weighted heavily on her now. She hadn't known the extent of Urahara's plans for a good while despite the fact that she adamantly insisted they tell her everything for fear of repercussions similar to those with Aizen. Hinamori couldn't trust them, Urahara and Tessai, or Yoruichi when the woman was around, and misplaced her insecurities in Hitsugaya Toushirou, to whom she had clung mercilessly after the Winter War.

She had compromised something when she let it slip—

Hinamori jumped when the ink brush splattered across the clean purple page. She stared at the mess for a moment, taking deep breaths. Tobiume skittered across Hinamori's consciousness. The young woman angrily raked the soiled paper, brush, and ink bowl to the floor, screaming mutedly in pent frustration. Ink splotched the floor, catching the corner of a sheet from her futon, which she shoved out of the way.

Hinamori almost ripped a drawer from her desk when a delicate knock on her door cut through the disappointed, befuddled haze. Cautiously she eased to the door, leaning against the wall. Only then did she think to _feel_ out who was outside her door

"Rukia?" she inquired, sliding her door open.

Drenched, Rukia stood dressed in full shinigami garb, but had her zanpaktou as well. How she had gotten outside the gates at this hour concerned Hinamori for a moment.

"What are you doing out here?" Hinamori asked.

"I need your help to open a senkaimon," Rukia insisted.

"A—Rukia, I can't open a senkaimon—"

"I know you can! Hinamori-san, I've sensed you in the transient world once, with the Vizard," Rukia informed quickly. Hinamori paled, running through her mind if she had, in fact, felt Rukia at any one of the Vizard's hiding places. She couldn't recall any. "I'm not going to ask why you were there," Rukia went on, surprising the other woman. "But I have to find them. I have to find Ichigo. He's about to…do something really stupid again."

Wary of Rukia's frantic battery, Hinamori leaned back, attempting to discern if the other woman knew anything more than she let on.

"I can't let you leave, Rukia-san," Hinamori informed sharply. Before Rukia could protest Hinamori interrupted, "I'll go. I don't know how you found them, but I promise that I can get to them before you. If I open a senkaimon and not go through it myself, then it'll look suspicious."

Rukia searched Hinamori's brown eyes, glaring.

"Fine. Please tell Ichigo not to go to Hueco Mundo!"

"Right," Hinamori nodded, reeling at the request. "I will. Please don't tell—"

"Your secret is safe. I just want to make sure Ichigo stays that way." With that Rukia left.

Immediately Hinamori turned around, working the kido to open her own senkaimon, seeing as the Kido Corps controlled them on the greater scale of course she had learned the technique. If there was possibility that a shinigami could conjure a Garganta then it was certain she would have that ability as well. Training could always start a little early. When the senkaimon opened, forgetting the mess on her floor, Hinamori leapt through, and the bright gates closed behind her.

**(((())))**

**Well, folks this seems to be steering toward epic-ness. Of course that's completely up to you, but I will consider it epic nonetheless. I didn't imagine it would get this complicated when I began. I thought it would almost be done by now, and it's just getting started!**

**Oh well. Yay for epic-ness!**

**Also, someone mentioned that considering the way things are that there probably won't be any happy endings here. I can't agree or disagree with that because even I don't know. But it's got to end happy for someone, at least. So there some silver lining I guess.**

**To those who are sticking around for this angst-ridden emo-fest, power to you! I realize this probably isn't everyone's cup of tea. So thanks to those who don't mind it!**

**Also a quick note concerning Kohanami. I've wanted to incorporate a scenario like this for the longest time. Hope it's not too cheesy or something. I just wanted to have some GinRan angst on new territory. I debated for a long time whether their kid would be a girl or boy. I chose boy at first, but then thought that a girl would be more emotional on both Gin and Rangiku's side. Plus she's simply adorable.**


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